


Latte

by Mad_Hatter_Usagi



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drinking, Drug Dealer!Montparnasse, F/M, Grantaire's parents are dead, I Don't Even Know, Les Amis as a social justice group, M/M, definitely piningtaire, i don't know what happened, i don't really write anything for that though, i named the coffee shop grape fruit, mentions of drug abuse, not really all that angsty though, sort of piningjolras, still be warned, this became angstier than i wanted it to, this started out really simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Hatter_Usagi/pseuds/Mad_Hatter_Usagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras comes into the coffee shop every day, and Grantaire makes him the same drink every day, with some latte art on top. Enjolras simply snaps the top on the cup, pays, and walks out. After a while of being hopelessly let down, Grantaire starts seeing someone else. The cynic doesn't know that the leader of Les Amis has been secretly crushing on him, and he definitely doesn't know that he gets a little jealous.</p>
<p>This was originally based off of a prompt on Tumblr, but I lost it, and this went out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latte

Working in a coffee shop sucks, Grantaire decided as he leaned against the front counter. That was probably because it was incredibly rare for him to show up to work without a massive hangover that he has to nurse until he gets off. Also because this is a very small coffee shop, where nothing interesting ever happened.

There was no corner filled with cute hipsters, no caffeinated college students, no long lines, and no little stands filled with their own batch of coffee beans, chocolate bars, or a CD from some new band no one's heard of. This was not Starbucks. This was Les Pamplemousse, named this because the owner was terrible at French and thought it meant something fancy and cool, when in reality it meant something like pomegranate, or grapefruit, or something like that. Grantaire couldn't remember anymore, and he'd never been the best at languages either. He knew enough to be nicknamed "R" though.

No, Grantaire was an artist. And a boxer, a fencer, a dancer, a potter, a debater, a chef, a reader, and an avid fanboy. He was many other things too, but his friends merely called him "worldly," and because he was "worldly," he was also a huge cynic. And being cynical, he didn't think anything special was going to happen that early September morning. Not when Éponine was already asleep in the swivel chair in the corner behind the counter. Not when Jehan was lazily doodling Keats on his arm, perched on the end of the counter with his back against the wall.

No, of course not.

So that's when, of course just to spite him, something does happen. At precisely 7:13 that morning, the little tinkling of bells alerted Grantaire to the customer walking through the front door. It made a few of their quiet regulars (An old man, who drank his coffee black, who always read the newspaper cover to cover before leaving. A plump, middle-aged lawyer who drank her chai tea with a bored expression while checking her emails on her smart phone. And Gavroche, Éponine's little brother, who sat by the counter every morning until 7:30, eating a muffin and drinking whatever his sister felt like giving him that day, playing his battered DS, until one of the mother's who took pity on the makeshift family came by to pick the boy up for school.) stir and glance toward the door, only to look back down at whatever they were doing a moment later.

A man, around Grantaire's age, probably a year or two younger, walked in. He stared at his cell phone boredly for a moment, blocking the glass door as he paused. Then he looked up, revealing his face to the brunet. The mystery man's beautiful, curly, blond hair and piercing blue eyes made the artist feel like drooling. Blondie's tight jeans and red jacket made him feel like he was having heart palpitations. And when Blondie ran his tongue over his lower lip briefly, absently, Grantaire nearly came in his pants. He held himself together though, but just barely.

Jehan looked up, toward the man, then back at Grantaire to see if he had was going to get him. By one look, the poet deduced that his friend definitely was going to get him, and if he tried to get up, he'd probably get pushed down again. Nope, he was definitely going to sit right there and watch this unfold.

Blondie walked up to the counter, glanced over the menu board. Grantaire took the opportunity to speak, pushing his headache from being hung-over to the back of his mind and trying to look like he hadn't been out until four that morning. "How can I help you?"

"Medium caramel latte, double shot," the man answered, his eyes returning to his phone in his hand.

"Name?"

"What?" The man looked up, obviously confused.

"For the cup," Grantaire answered, taking a medium cup and a sharpie from under the counter.

Blondie looked around the coffee shop, then turned back to Grantaire with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

"It's policy," the artist answered, looking entirely innocent. Jehan arched his own eyebrow at the barista, calling bull shit silently.

"Enjolras."

"...what?" Grantaire said, his hand with the sharpie paused over the cup.

"Enjolras. E-n-j-o-l-r-a-s," the man said as Grantaire copied the name down on the cup, quietly memorizing how to say it.

Quickly, the boxer bustled around the kitchen, creating the latte for his beautiful customer. Said customer just answered texts from either a really obnoxious, rambunctious person who constantly sent texts, or ten people at once. Grantaire paused before turning back to Enjolras, delicately creating a rose with a curled, thorny stem in the foam at the top with caramel and chocolate. He handed his creation over, expecting some form of excitement, or praise.

Instead, a lid is snapped over the cup without looking, and exact change is dumped on the counter. The mysterious Enjolras walked out of the shop immediately after, leaving a dumbstruck barista in his wake. Jehan hopped off the counter and hugged his friend, whispering sweet little words of encouragement and sympathy for the man, who was obviously crushing.

Later on, around noon, when they relayed the experience to Éponine, she shrieked and stomped around the room. She would have loved to have seen this gorgeous "Enjolras" who'd stolen her best friend, and room mate's heart.

* * *

 

The next morning was a Friday, the only day of the week that Grantaire and Éponine never went out drinking. They had made a pact after a particularly terrible "Thirsty Thursday" that they'd kept to for almost two years now. So when they come into work on Friday mornings, they aren't hung-over. They aren't tired, or bitter towards the world until the afternoon.

Instead, Éponine texts her sister, Azelma, prompting the younger girl to start getting ready for school, leaning up against the counter where Grantaire was the previous day. Jehan is curled up in the swivel chair, reading a brand-new anthology of poetry, marking each page with small multicolored sticky notes, each color depends on how he feels when the poem's finished. Grantaire is sketching human forms, sitting at the end of the counter, leaning against the wall.

At exactly 7:13, the little bell goes off and all three look up to see Enjolras, accompanied by two equally attractive men. The one to the blond's right, a more studious, level-headed looking man with dark hair and glasses. The one to the blond's left was already grinning flirtatiously at the three baristas, and he looked decidedly like a hipster.

As Enjolras approached, Grantaire turned and toward him, not getting up, and asked, "Same as yesterday?"

Slightly taken aback, Enjolras nodded. "Yes, a medium-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Medium caramel latte, double shot, I remember," Grantaire replied, cutting him off and hopping up. He grabbed a cup, scribbled Enjolras's name on the cup, remembering the spelling as if it was his own name, not the pretty blond's. The two other, unidentified men, smiled at each other knowingly, but didn't offer any explanation as they watched Grantaire bustle around fixing the drink.

"How can I help you?" Éponine asked, her eyes settled on the slightly nerdy, slightly hot man.

"I'll take whatever you suggest."

"Name?" She asked, smirking slightly as she grabbed a cup and a sharpie, remembering the lie she'd been informed about yesterday.

"Combeferre."

"...what?" Éponine stared up at him, baffled.

"Combeferre. C-o-m-b-e-f-e-r-r-e." He rattled off.

"O...kay!" She replied, flourishing her hand out as she signed the name on the cup, adding her phone number and her name, which was also on her name tag that was pinned to her chest.

"Hey, Ép, where'd you put the extra caramel sauce?" Grantaire asked, peering into one of the cabinets.

"Why do you think I know?" She replied saucily.

Her friend turned to her and raised his eyebrow.

"Oh shut up, R. It's over on Jehan's right."

Grantaire smirked and walked over to the cabinet by his other friend's thigh, grabbing the extra sauce. Jehan took Éponine's place as she walked by to start making Combeferre's coffee. He smiled sweetly at the remaining man and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like the sweetest thing here, and then I'd also like a pretty sweet drink." he replied, winking.

"I can do that. Name?" The poet asked, flustered and looking down as he picked up a cup and a sharpie.

Instead of a name, the third man listed seven numbers. At Jehan's curious little head quirk, which made some of his hair fall in his face, and his braid slide sideways, the man explained. "I'd rather give you my number first."

Jehan pinkened and smiled, setting the cup down as he did. "Repeat the digits then, and give me a name to go with them."

As he repeated the numbers, Jehan wrote them on his arm. "And then, my name's Courfeyrac. That's C-o-u-r-f-e-y-r-a-c. And you're Jean?" He asked, looking at the man's name tag.

"Well, technically. Everyone calls me Jehan though, since there are just too many 'Jean's, and Jehan is more original."

"Cute."

Grantaire handed the latte over, this time a swirled sun rested in the center of the cup. Once again, the lid was snapped over it before the picture was even glanced at. Combeferre was handed a drink that had been dubbed "The Ép" in the cafe. If she was allowed to recommend something, she'd give them that. No one knew how she made it, because they'd tried duplicating it, and they'd get it wrong time and time again.

"Stop flirting and get to work, Jehan," Grantaire teased as he scooted past his friend, back to his seat on the counter, trying not to be disappointed again. Éponine went to sit down, watching Combeferre as he discovered her phone number and took a picture of it so he could throw away the cup later.

Jehan quickly made a drink that was about 50 percent chocolate and caramel sauce, and 20 percent whipped cream and creamer, 5 percent ice, and fifteen percent coffee. When Courfeyrac tried it, he lit up with a smile. "Hey, this is really good," he announced.

"Come again then," Éponine said, taking the cash that Courfeyrac offered to pay for the three drinks.

The three men walk towards the door. Courfeyrac sends a flirty wink and a finger wave. Combeferre sends a smile and a parting nod. Enjolras walks out without looking back. All three baristas sigh as they watch the attractive men leave.

* * *

 

In the next few days, several things happened.

For one, Enjolras returned every day at 7:13 with his bored, distracted, and unknowingly attractive disposition. This gave Grantaire warning to fix up his messy exterior, drink a coffee to sober up, and push himself to the register so he could take care of the blond. Grantaire continued his latte art, of course, but the drink was lidded without a look every time. He drew a cat, a French flag, stars, a few fireworks, Totoro, and a crescent moon. All while continuously flirting to the oblivious red-clad Enjolras.

Jehan and Courfeyrac had become a "thing". That was how they defined it anyway, never using "boyfriends", but that was what they seemed. Courfeyrac took every opportunity to hang out in Les Pamplemousse, leaning across a point in the counter, sipping drinks the poet made him. He would leave with disheveled hair, a messy shirt, bruised lips, and poetry scrawled across his forearms. Their contact definitely didn't end there, because the sweet little poet would erupt into embarrassed, flattered, or bubbly giggles at any given point in the day, brought on my one of the hundreds of texts exchanged between them during the work day.

Combeferre had taken Éponine out once, and they exchanged text messages almost as frequently as Jehan and Courfeyrac. She was attached to the bookish college student, intrigued by everything he did. And Combeferre felt the same about her. She opened up easily to him, almost as easily as she did with R, which surprised her two friends. It must have been the calm, caring aura that he emitted. Soon enough, they chatted about social justice, Éponine's siblings, and his classes.

Éponine and Jehan started attending meetings for a group that the three men ran called Les Amis. They were a social justice group that worked outside of the University because they'd been banned from the premises after one too many unruly protest. They didn't go out drinking with Grantaire on Wednesdays, or get blasted on Fridays, because they were off on Saturdays. They had meetings to go to and rallies to plan.

The two friends were unbelievably excited about the group, and talked about it constantly, but Grantaire refused to go. They tried to convince him, merely stating that Enjolras would be there. They talked about his passionate speeches and flawless planning, trying to coerce him into going to just one of the meetings. But he wouldn't. After hearing the ideals of the group, he decided it was best that he stayed away. He'd only cause arguments, and Enjolras didn't really seem all that interested in him, at the most basic level of him being a decent human being, either.

Instead he went out drinking, staying later into the night than he did with his two friends. Sometimes he wouldn't go back to his apartment at all, which secretly scared Éponine, because he didn't brag about one-night stands, or drinking contests. He kept his lonely escapades close to his chest, never alerting anyone to what he did, but Jehan had noticed hickeys, just barely hidden by the neckline on his work uniform's t-shirt. Grantaire would simply show up to work the next morning earlier than his coworkers, a coffee already in hand.

After a few weeks of the strange, late-night adventures, Éponine leaned against a table in the Musain, the cafe they held Les Amis meetings in. She bit her lip, worrying for her friend. Finally, when there was a lull in speaking, she announced to everyone, "I'm worried about my friend, 'Taire."

"Why?" Enjolras asked, looking up from his laptop.

"He stays out later than he should when we're here, and he's being so secretive. He's never been like that."

"And he's obviously been seeing someone, or someones, because he's been collecting hickeys," Jehan added.

"He might just have bumped up his sex life," Bahorel, a large law student (if you could even call him a student since he only showed up to class one day in five), suggested.

Éponine rolled her eyes, "He would have said something. He always does."

"How about we investigate then? 'Rel and I haven't met him yet, so we can check out some of the places he might be and report back. Just give us a picture and a list of bars," Feuilly, a much smaller man with red hair and a legion of freckles, said.

Jehan and Éponine clustered around the two men, sending a picture of him to both of their phones and a list of five bars they mainly frequented attached to the text. The two men set out soon after, getting a quick "good luck" from everyone before they left.

Jehan wondered briefly what they were to each other. They had made it clear they were both straight, but Feuilly sat in the crook of Bahorel's arm more often than not, or on his lap a few times. They were room mates that shared a single bedroom apartment, than only had that one bed. Sharing cigarettes, beers, meals, or anything else wasn't rare at all, in fact it was weird if one of them didn't offer the other something. They shared affectionate hugs, hand holds, taps, and sometimes brief kisses on the shoulder or cheeks, but then they seemed confused and creeped out by people who asked if they were "together".

* * *

When Bahorel and Feuilly walked into the second bar on the list, they spotted Grantaire straight away. He'd just hustled a guy out of over $100 playing pool, using a pretty blonde girl as his bait. She'd pretended to be drunk and flirty with a guy who looked completely smashed, and when Grantaire acted as her overbearing boyfriend, he was challenged to a game of pool to see who was going home with her that night. Grantaire won almost instantly, and they shooed the poor sucker away soon after. The girl didn't act like she was his lover or anything though.

She was an affectionate friend. An affectionate friend who split the cash they'd swindled out of the man. An affectionate friend who waved goodbye with a finger-wave and walked out of the bar as Feuilly and Bahorel sat down. Grantaire got up from the barstool he'd rested on and walked across the room to a booth which was already occupied by a man. The man had a general bad-boy sort of look about him, with his leather jacket, tight dark jeans, messy hair, and the look that he was giving Grantaire was anything but wholesome.

It was obvious that they knew each other, and it was obvious by the fact that he'd waited until Cosette had left that their meeting was secret. The two spies ordered their drinks, discreetly glancing over at Grantaire as he chatted with him.

"C'mon, R, why won't you introduce me to the blonde sweetheart?" They heard the man ask.

"Because 'Sette is seeing someone, you bastard," Grantaire answered, exasperated by what sounded like a frequently asked question.

"Well so am I, sorta, so there's nothing to worry about." The man answered, a wolfish smile on his face.

The artist laughed, "Fucking doesn't mean we're 'seeing' each other, 'Nasse."

They both laughed for a moment before "'Nasse" asked, "You sure she wouldn't want to fuck? She was hot."

"She's desperately in love with a friend of a friend, so no," Grantaire answered. "One of Ép's friends from that little club I told you about."

"Ugh, another idealist. Why are all the idealists in this city so hot?"

"It's a mystery," Grantaire answered wistfully, thinking about Enjolras.

They were quiet a moment as they shared a beer, but then the leather-clad man set the bottle down and asked, "Ready to go back to my place?"

"Sure," the boxer said, standing a moment before 'Nasse did.

As they exited, Bahorel and Feuilly texted Éponine the news.

* * *

"Are you sure you heard that right?" Éponine asked for the third time. "'Nasse?"

"Yes," Bahorel groaned, rolling his eyes. "He's hustling pool with a blonde girl named 'Sette, and fucking a guy named 'Nasse. Your R's got game, in more ways than one, by the way."

Combeferre noticed Enjolras's tight grip on the table, eyes glaring at the table top like it held some strange secret. He was obviously gritting his teeth, angered for some unknown reason. But Combeferre could guess it had something to do with the blond's own secret fascination with the single barista.

After all, every day he would peel off the lid of the cup once they left the cafe and stare fondly at the newest artwork to adorn his cup. He'd snap a picture of his latte with his cell phone and keep the pictures to look back on during the day when he thought no one was looking. He'd act like he didn't care about the shameless flirting that Grantaire flung at him every day, but he actually hung on to every word.

Enjolras even strained his ears every time he heard one of his friends saying something about the man. So of course, Combeferre realized, Enjolras was listening, and perhaps even jealous of this 'Nasse. Jealous that 'Nasse had the courage to do what he wanted to so badly, but was strangely shy of doing. Combeferre had known his friend for a long time though, and knew that when he liked someone, he'd keep the secret because even if he knew they returned the sentiment, he was nervous about showing those kinds of feelings toward someone.

Maybe it had something to do with the way his parents divorced, Combeferre had thought on more than one occasion.

"What about 'Sette?" Courfeyrac asked, looking up from some paperwork that had been forced on him by Combeferre.

"She's a blonde-"

"That's dating a guy in Les Amis, right? I bet she's our little puppy's new girl. Cosette, her name is. Marius won't stop going on and on about her. How about that, she hustles pool with Grantaire," the Center barked a laugh.

"And 'Nasse, who's that?" Feuilly asked.

"One of the gang lords for Patron-Minette. He sells drugs at some clubs around here," Éponine answered, burying her face in her hands. Combeferre left Enjolras's side for the first time that night and sat next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"And how do you know this?" The blond asked, who looked up once again from his laptop once his friend left his side.

The girl shrugged and looked up, "He was around a lot when I was a teenager, my parents are in Patron-Minette. 'Taire didn't like him at all before..."

"Why?" Joly asked, resting his head on a table.

"Because 'Nasse sells drugs, and R's parents were druggies. He was the one who found them when they OD'd. R's avoided that kinda stuff like the plague, since he was a freshmen in high school," Éponine announced, letting a silence sweep over the cafe. "Plus, 'Nasse sold his parents their last hit."

"Then why is he suddenly fucking the guy who indirectly killed his parents?" Bahorel asked incredulously.

"Why don't you call and ask?" Musichetta asked, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her face. "At the very least, you can make it awkward for him, which might be a little funny."

"That is a wonderful idea!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, jumping from his seat. "I'll even be the one to call! Someone gimme his number."

Jehan handed his phone over and the flower child's "thing" dialed. He clicked the speaker button and held the phone out in his hand so the silent watchers could listen in. After a few rings, it picked up. There was a fumbling noise and a few curses before Monparnasse's voice could be heard, close to the speaker.

"Hey, Jehan's the poet, right?"

"Get the fuck off my phone, you bastard," Grantaire grumbled.

"R can't come to the phone right now-"

"Give me my phone!" There was the sound of a struggle, some more fumbling, and what sounded like the phone being dropped. Some farther-away voices shout some vulgarities.

"What have I told you about touching my phone?"

"No playing Angry Birds 'cuz it drains the battery."

"Fuck off!"

There was a bit of silence, then a few murmured sultry words. A sound of irritation from what sounded like Grantaire, then the phone was picked up again.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Courf."

"Ah, since it's you, I'm betting I'm on speaker, aren't I?" Grantaire guessed, accurately.

The Center laughed nervously, "How'd you know?"

"Jehan talks about you a lot."

The little poet's face went bright red and he put his face in his hands. "Grantaire!" He groaned. Courf was beaming at the news.

"Anyway, why're you calling, I'm a bit busy."

"With Montparnasse?! Seriously?" Éponine nearly shrieked.

"I feel the love, 'Ponine," Montparnasse said sarcastically.

"I'd rather not talk about this now," Grantaire grumbled. "So I'm gonna hang up, shut off my phone, and talk to you about this tomorrow."

"This isn't healthy behavior, Grantaire," Combeferre began, but was interrupted by Grantaire ending the call. They tried again, but they were sent straight to voicemail.

"Fuck!" Éponine barked angrily.

Jehan pouted, "I hate 'Nasse. This is going to end badly."

* * *

The next morning, around six, when Jehan, Éponine, and Gavroche walked into Les Pamplemousse together to begin their shift and wait for school, Grantaire was sitting cross-legged on the counter, sipping from a cup that held black coffee. He looked undisturbed by his friends' angry glares. He simply stared back with half-lidded eyes. 

Finally, when Éponine strode forward and smacked the cup out of his hand, sending it to the floor with a clatter and spilling the drink everywhere, Grantaire did roll his eyes. "So I've been fucking Montparnasse, so what?"

"It's not right! You know what he's done, you-" Jehan began, stepping around the puddle of coffee.

"Yes, I know what 'Nasse has done. I know what he continues to do. I know what he will do, probably for the rest of his life. But ruining people's lives just comes naturally to him. I don't love him. I don't even like him on a fundamental level, but he's an easy distraction," Grantaire shrugged and hopped off the counter, striding toward the back room, grabbing a mop and bucket of soapy water that they kept around just in case, and returning to clean up the mess.

"Have you been-"

"Buying from him? No, Ép, I'm clean. I'm not stupid."

"Well-"

"Yes I realize that I'm only doing this to get my Apollo off of my mind, and yes I realize it's not doing any good."

"How can you know that and keep doing this, 'Taire?" Jehan asked.

"Because he's easy. He knows it doesn't mean anything, and he's fine with it. He knows that either of us can call it off at any time, and neither of us will be pissed."

"How did this even start?" Éponine demanded.

"The second time I went out without you guys, he bought me a drink. We fucked, I left in the morning, you know, normal one-night stand kinda stuff. He was there the next time, and it happened again. After a few more times, we talked about it at the bar and decided we might as well make it a regular thing," Grantaire shrugged.

"You and Enjolras would be good for each other, even if it would be a bit hard sometimes," Jehan mentioned.

"Well I think it's time I gave up on him."

They stopped talking as the first few customers walked in. Gavroche settled himself in a corner with a muffin and a drink, beating his Mario game for the fifth time. The artist walked into the back room afterwards, knowing that it was a rule that two people must be at the counter at all times so his friends couldn't follow him. At 7:12, Grantaire walked back out and leaned against the counter, waiting for the blond man to walk in at 7:13. He wasn't disappointed, since a minute later the man walked in.

This time he looked at Grantaire instead of his phone, determined to get the Grantaire's attention. He hated the idea of his barista with some other man. While Grantaire prepared the drink, he felt Enjolras's eyes on him. It was a strange, uncomfortable, wonderful feeling. He handed over the drink without creating any latte art.

When Enjolras looked at it, he put it on the counter and said, "This isn't mine."

"What? Of course it is. I haven't forgotten your order, you _always_ get the same thing," Grantaire insisted.

"You didn't draw anything on it, so it isn't mine. You _always_ draw something on the top," Enjolras answered, pushing the cup across the counter resolutely. Éponine and Jehan stared, eyes wide, as they realized what Grantaire did. Enjolras had been paying attention to the artwork.

"Uh, of course, sorry, right," Grantaire stumbled, taking back the cup. He quickly drew a rather impressive rendition of the Eiffel Tower and handed it back.

Enjolras looked at it and smiled fondly like he always did in secret. "Thank you," He said as he set the cup down and grabbed his wallet. After he payed, he took the receipt and scribbled seven digits and his name on the back, then pushed the paper across the counter and said, "Call me sometime, okay? Maybe you'd want to go out sometime?"

"You mean like on a date?" Grantaire squeaked.

Enjolras nodded, "Exactly like a date."

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to. I'll call you," He nodded, eyes wide.

"Great," Enjolras answered, a bright, triumphant smile on his face. Hopefully there would be no more Montparnasse in Grantaire's life. There definitey wouldn't be, if the revolutionary got his way. He waved to his barista and walked out.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at:  
> fandomsoverloadmyfeels
> 
> I accept prompts!


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